Like in Ethiopia? A Failed Transition’s Lessons for Venezuela
In 2012, I participated in a United Nations mission in Ethiopia for a technical cooperation event on international trade, which at the time was my area of expertise. Since then, every major development in Venezuela brings me back to that trip, which proved far more revealing than I could have imagined. More than once, I have found myself thinking: this is just like in Ethiopia.
I witnessed firsthand, before it unfolded in Venezuela, that totalitarian systems do not just collapse. They transform in order to survive and advance, as Hannah Arendt argued. Over time, I also came to understand that while authoritarian regimes may promise reform and a democratic transition, without sustained external and domestic commitments those promises tend to dissolve sooner rather than later. This insight is particularly relevant in the current Venezuelan process.
On my way from Addis Ababa airport to the hotel, I noticed large portraits of a politician displayed throughout the city. Thinking of the strongman politics I knew from home, I asked the official accompanying me whether he was the president. “No,” he replied, “the prime minister. He died.” Surprised, I asked why his images were still everywhere. “Don’t these images bother the new one?” “No, because he chose his successor,” came the answer. When I pressed further and asked whether people had voted for him, the response was matter-of-fact: they belonged to the same party, and parliament had selected him.
In those few days, I caught a glimpse of what Venezuela would later experience between 2013 and 2019, after Chávez died and his handpicked successor Maduro came to power. I saw a country marked by hunger, where people wandered with a vacant, distant gaze. A look that would later become painfully familiar during Venezuela’s humanitarian crisis. That image contrasted sharply with the ruling elite, visibly prosperous, gathering in luxury hotels and indulging in imported comforts. I saw women collecting firewood to cook because two decades of socialist mismanagement and corruption had destroyed the electrical system. I saw the haze produced by environmental degradation, similar to what would later hang over Caracas. I also observed a strong Chinese presence, already a dominant economic partner and creditor.
During that mission, I came to understand how the ruling system had entrenched poverty, controlled resources, and normalized corruption, not merely as governance failures but as mechanisms of social control. Years later, working from a human rights perspective, I would recognize these patterns as instruments of ideology, repression, and economic, and ethnic exclusion.
His profile seemed ideal: a system-man, with military and security credentials, Western education, and a discourse centered on reform and reconciliation.
I also witnessed the regime’s hostility toward international actors, imposing strict conditions on United Nations operations and limiting the work of officials on the ground. Hearing the likes of Jorge Rodríguez and other Venezuelan representatives threaten Volker Turk this year, the High Commissioner for Human Rights, did not surprise me. I had seen that before, years earlier, in the Horn of Africa.
Now, I return to the phrase like in Ethiopia because, following the US operation to capture Maduro, the proposed plan for stabilization, recovery, and democratization echoes a trajectory that Ethiopia followed over the past decade.
The Ethiopian Delcy
Let’s go back to 2018. A figure from within the ruling coalition, Abiy Ahmed, rose to power after three years of widespread protests and political unrest that led to the resignation of Hailemariam Desaleng. Although it is not clear how much the US and the EU were involved in his rise, he was not directly imposed from outside as has been the case with Delcy Rodríguez, but he was “unequivocally embraced” by the United States and the European Union. Abiy became the media’s darling, who placed their bets on him and promoted the new leader as a reformist capable of modernizing the country.
His profile seemed ideal: a system-man, with military and security credentials, Western education, and a discourse centered on reform and reconciliation. Between 2018 and 2020, Ethiopia experienced a period of remarkable transformation on three fronts: recovering the economy, stabilizing the region and strengthening the rule of law.
The economy grew at an annual rate of around 7 percent, key sectors were opened to foreign investment, and political reforms were introduced, including the release of political prisoners, the return of those in exile, the legalization of opposition parties, and greater press freedom. Women were incorporated into government at unprecedented levels. On the international stage, Ethiopia expanded its diplomatic engagement, signed trade agreements, and most notably reached a peace agreement with Eritrea, which earned Abiy the Nobel Peace Prize.
Political attention from foreign actors is limited, international agendas evolve rapidly, and what might begin as a priority can quickly be overtaken by other crises.
Yet this period of optimism proved fragile. Tensions in 2020 with the Tigray People’s Liberation Front, once part of the ruling coalition, escalated into a full-scale internal conflict. Abiy’s government shifted course and relapsed. The reform process gave way to a reassertion of authoritarian power, along with widespread human rights violations, restrictions on the press, and accusations of war crimes.
The response from the United States and the European Union included targeted sanctions, visa restrictions, suspension of trade benefits, and partial freezes on aid. Abiy’s international image deteriorated significantly, and Ethiopia began to diversify its alliances, strengthening ties with China, engaging with Russia, and expanding cooperation with actors such as Turkey, the United Arab Emirates, and Iran, eventually becoming members of the anti-West BRICS alliance.
Careful with the honeymoon phase
The Ethiopian case offers at least one revealing lesson. External support can facilitate an initial opening and even generate strong economic momentum, but it does not guarantee a democratic transition.
When international commitment weakens before new institutional rules are consolidated, the outcome is often not transformation but reconfiguration. The system adapts to the new reality, but is not replaced or merely revamped. This dynamic reflects a broader pattern in contemporary international politics. Particularly since the costly experiences of Iraq and Afghanistan, external actors have tended to favour reform processes led by internal figures rather than imposing leadership from outside. However, the central challenge lies not in how these processes begin, but in what happens when external support diminishes, which often occurs during the crucial consolidation phase.
Both the United States and Europe tend to operate within relatively short time horizons when supporting political transitions, often between two and four years, three if I revert to an American security and communications expert whom I worked with yet in another career chapter. These timelines are shaped by electoral cycles, budgetary constraints, shifting strategic priorities, and, in the European case, the difficulty of sustaining consensus among multiple states with divergent interests. Political attention is limited, international agendas evolve rapidly, and what might begin as a priority can quickly be overtaken by other crises. The result is a form of strategic fatigue that has been evident in multiple contexts over the past decades.
By contrast, the transitions most often cited as successful (such as those in Chile, South Africa, and Eastern Europe) were characterized by sustained external engagement over much longer periods, often a decade or more, combined with favourable internal conditions. These cases demonstrate that democratic consolidation is not the product of a short window of opportunity, but of a prolonged commitment.
For Venezuela, the implications are clear. The current process may well generate an initial opening, attract investment, and produce early signs of stabilization. But without sustained international engagement beyond the initial phase, there is a risk that the system will stabilize without fundamentally democratizing. The lesson from Ethiopia is not that transition is impossible, but that it is incomplete if the conditions for its consolidation are not maintained.
The real challenge, therefore, is not how the transition begins, but whether it is sustained long enough to transform the underlying structures of power. Otherwise, we may once again find ourselves looking at a familiar outcome and thinking, once again, like in Ethiopia.
